


A Song After Dawn

by YosephBrookland



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Conspiracy, Drugs, Gen, Murder, Organized Crime, Politics, Racism, Slow Build, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 12:52:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7533496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YosephBrookland/pseuds/YosephBrookland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over thirty years later, the city has turned into a plaything for the underground. Rising powers felt throughout Zootopia remain unseen, but vie for control over a narcotics trade still in its infancy. The divide between Pred and Prey becomes more apparent everyday. Policy is placed above people, ego and face above lives. Nothing is sacred in this city anymore. </p><p>Not while there are still pieces to be played.</p><p>Not while there are still avid players, of the game after dawn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Song After Dawn

# Prologue

“He’s dead,” Steven croaked, palm massaging his throat.

“What?” asked Salazar, amused. “Who?”

“The guy, uh,” Steven barely spat out before he hunched over a sink, gagging uncontrollably. Sal chuckled at this, though a glance at the static visage of his other companion saw the rams smile crack slightly.

“We should go,” Todo said, sternly. Despite the bengel’s size, seniority, and rolling, thunderous tongue, Sal’s naivete and bravado remained unscathed.

The ram scoffed. “Uh, no. Don’t forget yourself bengie, we ain’t walking away empty handed.”

The tiger’s features hardened. “I doubt the Lady would mind. This place stinks.” 

The smaller ram would’ve retorted, but the stench did seem to grab him. The subtle scent of blood, the copper swimming into his lungs and producing a noticeable, but suppressed gag. A moment to collect himself, Sal went to Steven and placed a hand on the canine’s steadily heaving shoulders. “Where?”

“I-” Steven muttered, doing his best to stitch back semblance of composure. On wobbly feet, the wolf clung the sink's rim, free hand clutching his gut. “I saw it i-in the basement. Just-” He spread his arms wide. “Everywhere. _All over_.”

Todo grunted audibly, getting Sal’s attention. Though dressed as simply and as black as his compatriots, Todo was a mass of muscle, shoulders wide and chest broad. Though age touched the corners of his eyes and his once fiery coat, it failed to wither what Todo valued the most. His head was just as prized as his muscle, renowned throughout the Family. Sal almost always chose to challenge that, for what he lacked in mind and body, the ram returned with half-baked wit.

“You could be a real cub sometimes,” Sal remarked, stepping up to the behemoth with nary a trace of fear. “Getting cold feet?”

“No. Just the desire to live another day, _ladka_ ,” Todo growled, desire placed more on demolishing the ram’s stupid grin at present.

Sal tsked. “Ooo! Big bad tabby threatening a superior! Like it! Only, what would Lady think?” as if at the flick of switch, the growls, and seemingly the animosity, died.

Todo coughed into his closed fist. “Apologies.”

Sal smirked. “That’s right,” spinning on his heel, Sal tugged Steven’s shoulder. “Lead the way,” Steven gave Todo a pleading look, the tiger unwilling to meet his own gaze. The wolf could almost feel the heat behind the bengal’s eyes.

“Maybe,” Steven squeaked, tugging his thumb nervously. “We should, like, you know…”

Sal looked at them both with a mix of surprise and annoyance. “Really? Am I the only one who knows why were here?”

No one responded.

“Because, where I’m standing,” Sal said, a downward finger emphasizing his point. “It seems you’d all rather bug out with nothing, than walk out with something. Izzat right?”

Todo didn’t budge, simply walking out into the adjacent dining room. “Do what you like. I’ll wait.”

There was an almost childish anger to the rams features, the furrowing of his brow and the tightening of a fist. Steven could feel the fear melt off him in slender waves while watching Salazar seethe, though much of it refused to thaw. He almost yelped when Sal turned to him, an expectant look in his eyes. “Well?”

“Yes, um,” Steven stammered, throwing a finger toward the living room. “This way.” Taking the lead, Steven walked with a quickened pace, the wolf stumbling on various chunks of debris. Their search had taken them to every corner of the two story abode, and eventually behind every wall, as they were ripped down to bare wooden beams and carefully managed cabling. Sal was blunt, but could be precise when he needed to be. The ram figured himself clever for reasons Steven couldn’t surmise, as he’d only became part of the Family recently. _Why sling ‘Light for fifty a day_ , he remembered, _when ye can ‘ave ten other guys do it and give ye fifty. A piece._

Though not quite the top of the pyramid, Steven kept faith. He wasn’t about to go up to his boss with nothing, despite his gut telling him otherwise. The Lady seemed so courteous and formal, he almost forgot he was doing the same thing he’d been doing since he was twelve. Breaking entering was new, admittedly, but felt organized and meaningful. Almost like he’d gone legit, somehow. Seeing that open door however, flushed all those thoughts away. While only a flight down, the basement was home to darkness, married to silence. He stopped dead.

Sal tapped the wolf’s shoulder. “Steve?” Without a word, Steven side stepped away from the entrance, back to the wall.

“He's...” Steven muttered, eyes fixed firmly at his feet. He’d never seen a dead body, and he wouldn’t be witness again.

“Would say you’d seen a ghost, “ Salazar quipped, tone noticeably deflated. “Wouldn’t be far from the truth either, hm?” The ram poked in his head, flipping the light switch. The concrete cavern below flickered before being bathed in a constant stream of white light.

Steven shifted away, focused on wood tiling.

Sal descended quickly, footfalls slowing and spaced farther apart the farther he went. Cursing himself, Steven, hands wrung tightly, looked down into the basement. Eyes widened like saucers. “What?”

Sal smirked, standing amidst an empty room. “Question of the day.” Steven practically flew to the landing, taking in the empty, _empty_ concrete cell where a mutilated anteater should’ve been. Not a drop of blood touched the walls, nor speck of grime graced the ground, everything was spotless.

“H-he,” the wolf shook, hands gesturing indiscriminately. “I-it was- He was _here_ , dead! J-just...” Then he smelt it. The stench of decay that hid behind his fear and confusion, now blanketing the room with its influence. Steven felt a gag crawl up his throat, knees nearly buckling if not for the hands that quickly caught them as he dry heaved.

“Would say you cried,” Sal said, cold. Steven glanced over to ram and followed his outstretched finger to the object of its infatuation. 

Doesn’t even make sense, Steven thought, head swiveling to see the object tucked neatly under the staircase. To a emotionally drunk mind, you’d be hard pressed to say it was nothing other than a red tarp with pink-white trim. Steven wanted to tell himself that, even after the lights died. It was just a bleeding carpet with a pink-white trim, much like his little sister’s.

 _Just like hers_ , he mused, feeling something cold and hard grace his throat. And the lights died again.

**Author's Note:**

> Slow burn indeed. 
> 
> Feedback is appreciated and always read, you won't be ignored.


End file.
